Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(14)

My throat works over and over again as I try to swallow the words. I don’t even want to say them out loud in a room by myself, let alone look into Milo’s eyes and say them too. The thought makes my breathing go heavy and my stomach churn. And as I attempt to come up with something to say in response, my heart races.

Rhys’s hand squeezes again. And I want to punch him for knowing it’s exactly what I need. I don’t want him to be this attuned to me. I want him to disappear.

But before I can react, he pipes up with a question of his own. “Can you give us an example of how you’d say it?”

Trixie nods, and I let out a heavy sigh, then knock his hand off my knee. I’d rather not be comforted by the man who plans to take my dead sister’s child away from me.

“I would take the three-pronged approach again. Answer those questions one by one.” She holds three fingers up now and drops one down as she speaks again. “Your mom has died, and this means you won’t be seeing her ever again. It’s okay for you to be sad, and it’s normal to have a lot of feelings about this.”

My eyes sting as she drops another finger.

“You are safe and loved.”

I wonder if Milo needs to hear this or if I do.

“And last, you’ll add something like, this is who will be taking care of you.” Trixie’s head swivels between us with a knowing, quirked brow, and I feel like I’m in time-out. “Your mom won’t be able to take care of you now, but we will be.”

The words she emphasizes aren’t lost on me. She makes it sound so effortless, so obvious, but I know in practice it will be anything but.

“Then I would tell him that you’ll be there for him, and you will talk about his mom with him anytime he wants.” She closes with a simple shrug, as though this isn’t the worst conversation of my life.

My lips clamp in a tight line, and I nod rapidly as though that makes up for my lack of words. Rhys sits woodenly beside me, and it’s hard to make out on the screen, but he looks frozen. Like a statue.

When I glance over at him in the flesh, he looks even worse. Pale and motionless. He looks downright unwell.

And for the first time since life threw us at each other… I feel bad for him.





CHAPTER 8


Rhys





THE MINUTE THE CALL WINDOW DISAPPEARS, TABITHA ROLLS her chair back and flees the room. I swear I see her wipe a hand over her cheek, but it just as easily could have been her flipping me the finger. Either way, I don’t move. I sit, the reality of it all settling in.

My hand. Her knee.

Without even thinking it through, I’d reached for her. Tried to throw her a lifeline. And I shouldn’t have. I’d taken it too damn far.

The truth is, I made that contact as much for her well-being as my own.

The memory of being told similar things by a social worker at every new home I was taken to as a child bubbled up in me unbidden. At thirty-five years old, it still haunts me.

And so does the knowledge that I would never do something that isn’t in Milo’s best interest…but I also promised his mother I’d stand in for her if this day ever came.

I just didn’t expect it to come.

The pain of Erika’s loss is fresh, still unbelievable in so many ways. Our friendship was easy, and she always seemed healthy. None of this feels real, and everything I do right now is just…on autopilot.

I don’t know how much time passes until the sharp clap of Tabitha’s hands behind me startles me out of my reverie.

“You can’t stay here.”

I turn to look at her and come up short when I see her standing in the doorway wearing pin-striped black pants and a white chef’s coat. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Her cheeks hollow out, and her expression sours as she examines me with disapproval. She’s pulled her hair into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, lending to the severe look.

I miss the messy updo and the grass stains on her knees.

“Because I have to go to work.”

“Right now?”

“No. I just love to play dress-up in my free time.”

I let out a beleaguered sigh. “We should talk at some point. To Milo. About Milo. All of it.”

“About Milo staying here?”

My jaw works. I don’t want to lie to her, but I also don’t want to give her false hope. “I don’t know.”

Her lips pop open in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“My life isn’t here. My work isn’t here. I have a summer home in Emerald Lake. There are laws that require me to leave. Staying for more than six months is frowned upon by immigration. And my time is almost up. I’ve been off work.”

Again.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. “Six months off, huh? Must be nice. What is it you do again?”

Now it’s my turn to stiffen. I hate talking about my work. The questions. The assumptions. The way people treat me differently once they find out.

I love being a wrestler with World Professional Wrestling, but I love my privacy more. It’s why my character keeps a mask on in the ring. And it’s why I don’t tell people what I do.

“I work in the entertainment industry.”

Her gaze sweeps over me. “Porn?”